Heartfelt Thanks to Heros

Lyndon, Denton, Ralph and "Chick" are not the type of guys who get a police motorcycle escort through Washington, D.C.

But on Oct. 11, the blue lights flashed and traffic
was stopped for three busloads of real American heroes: veterans who won
World War II. For one day, the U.S. Capitol belonged to the vanishing
generation of men who marched into hell and rescued the freedom we take
for granted today.

If asked, they can describe the stinking jungles of
the Pacific, the eye-burning fumes of submarine duty, or three days
strapped to a bunk in a Pacific typhoon that tossed destroyers around
like bathtub toys.

Words Can't Say Enough

But some things just are not talked about, and
others will always stay beyond the reach of feeble words. For the men
who lived through it all, battles such as D-Day, Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima
and the Battle of the Bulge can only be described by a trembling lip and
stoic, muffled sobs as they visited the WWII Memorial for the first
time and saw the field of gold stars that honor 400,000 who gave their
lives.

I rode along as a guardian volunteer for Honor
Flights, an all-volunteer non-profit with a noble mission: to make sure
World War II veterans get a chance to see the monuments built on their
behalf before they pass into what Abraham Lincoln poetically called "the
mystic chords of memory that stretch from every battlefield and patriot
grave, to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land."

Every day another 1,200 of these veterans join the
ones who never came home. So Honor Flight Tri-State, led by Cheryl Popp
and other unpaid staffers, works hard to get as many as possible to the
Capitol. Our flight was the fifth of the year. The US Airways charter
carried more than 70 veterans and an equal number of guardians like me,
who paid $350 for the privilege. The veterans pay nothing.

It was a long day, starting with a 7:30 a.m. welcome
at CVG, a flight to D.C., and then a bus and walking tour of five
Washington memorials: World War II, Korean War, Vietnam, Iwo Jima and
the Air Force Memorial that overlooks the side of the Pentagon where a
hijacked airliner vaporized on impact on 9/11/2001.

All of the veterans were on the far side of 80. Some
were pushed in wheelchairs, but most walked all day. Even as the tour
stretched into the 15th hour on the return flight to Cincinnati, I heard
no complaints beyond an occasional, "I will sleep well tonight." Men
with failing hearing, poor eyesight and painful knees seized the day the
same way they took Rome and Mount Suribachi. It was inspiring and
humbling.

Quiet Navy Vet

I was paired up with Clarence "Chick" Hickman of Newport, Ky., a quiet Navy veteran with a great sense of humor.

He was the sonar man on a destroyer, then taught
sonar at Key West, where he once served a cocktail to President Harry
Truman as bartender in the officer's club. Like many vets who came home
from WWII, he got married and was beginning his life again when he was
re-called and nearly sent to Korea. At the last minute, he was
reassigned stateside "When they pulled me out of the line and told me
that, unfortunately, I was not going, I wanted to kiss the guy," he
laughs.

When I asked about his wartime experiences, he says
he was very lucky. One of his scariest experiences was serving on a
submarine that was ordered to test-dive far deeper than the maximum
limits. Strange creaking noises, sudden leaks, white-knuckle fear. But
he insists he was lucky. When he served on a destroyer, he tells me,
weapons tests did not always go as planned. Sometimes they had to dodge
their own launched torpedoes. Lucky.

Like many of the vets, he is kind, humble and perplexed by the VIP attention.

"They won't believe it," one veteran says, snapping
pictures of the motorcycle cops, who posed with one of the vets who was
celebrating his 99th birthday. "They will never believe we got a police
escort."

As we breezed through the TSA checkpoints with a
wave, without removing shoes and belts, a TSA woman greeted us, loudly
declaring, "I love you guys. I ain't kiddin', I really, really love
you!"

"Lordy, lordy," Chick says, shaking his head in happy disbelief. "All this for us?"

Everywhere we went there seemed to be buntings,
banners, brass bands, smiles and waving flags. On the runways, fire
trucks saluted with a rainbow of water arching over our wings. In the
D.C. airport, jazz bands played 1940s tunes and patriotic music. As our
caravan rolled through a rough section of D.C., a man on the sidewalk
paused and saluted. "Lordy, lordy," he said as we came up the ramp in
Cincinnati at 10:30 p.m., greeted by cheering families and friends.
"They're doing all this for us?" Yes. Finally.

An Honor Flights sponsor, Ed Finke of Simply Money,
explains, "These guys came home and went to work. Most of them never got
a parade. Some of them might have been kissing nurses, but they weren't
the ones kissing nurses on Times Square."

So yes. Finally. It was their day.

The monuments were stunningly beautiful. The WWII
Memorial is huge and solemn, as it should be for the worst war in
history. A reflecting pool is surrounded by granite columns, decorated
with wreaths to mark all of the states. Majestic bronze eagles roost in
the tops of twin pavilions dedicated to the Atlantic and Pacific wars.

The Vietnam Memorial is dark and brooding. At the
Air Force Memorial, pillars soar upward. It's not hard to imagine the
curving columns as a joyful jet-trail salute from the spirits of the
dead, returning from those "mystic chords of memory" to honor the men
who made it home.

But the Korean War Memorial and Iwo Jima grip the
heart and don't let go. There is no subtle symbolism here. They are
almost too real. The Korean War soldiers are spread out, on patrol;
faces are haggard and worn. Their eyes stare right through you,
exhausted and fearful.

At the Iwo Jima Memorial to the U.S. Marines, the
flag-raising photo that epitomized victory in the Pacific is magnified
to a scale of giants. Every straining muscle and muddy boot seems so
real you can almost hear the grunts, sobs and cheers, and smell the
blood, sweat and death.

These monuments to ordinary Americans who gave their
lives in our nation's darkest hours make a jarring contrast to the rest
of the city. D.C. looks like some kind of modern Pharaoh's Egypt,
rising everywhere like the epic pyramids. The immense Agriculture
Department glowers behind gray stone pillars. The inhumanly scaled
architecture makes American citizens feel like Egyptian slaves, each of
us harnessed to a massive stone block of debt, with the whips replaced
by withholding.

It made me wonder "” does anyone ever drive by the
endless rows of white markers in Arlington National Cemetery, then look
at what government hath wrought and ask themselves:

"Is THIS what they paid for with their lives? Really?"

The WWII vets are rich in accomplishment, wealthy in
their love of family, faith and nation. And in their prime, they were
the most powerful men on earth, who defeated the worst evils of mankind.

Lyndon, Denton, Ralph and Chick may not think of
themselves as rich and powerful. They don't wear the blue suits of
politicians or the gray pinstripes of bankers. Instead, they wore
T-shirts that said on the back: "If you can read this, thank a teacher.
If you can read it in English, thank a veteran."